Heart Asunder (Dear Dahlia Season 2)

Chapter 10

Naima glanced at the clock. It was five pm. Wadi would return soon.

She looked in the mirror and fixed her hair. Just then, Wadi unlocked the door and opened it.
"Hello," Wadi said wearily. Maybe she was tired of her mother doing her hair all the time. Naima wasn't surprised. Kids, she thought with a shake of her head.

"Hello. Dinner's ready," she added. Wadi's eyes lit up, but she counted the money and handed it over to Naima. "Thank you," she said. The sixteen-year-old didn't reply, and instead took out the food Naima had prepared. Then, she sat cross-legged on the chair.
"Sit properly," Naima demanded.
"I am," Wadi challenged.

Naima shook her head as she let Wadi help herself first. She shivered. Without Isfa around, the house felt colder.
"You were late today," the mother stated.
"I went to the camps and sold the leftovers," Wadi replied smoothly. Naima looked at her.
"No. You visited Rahim, didn't you?"

Wadi's fork clattered onto her plate. She picked it up again. "Oh, I'm sorry, is it bad to do both?"
"...So you did sell those leftovers?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "Mama why are you always so..." she trailed off. She knew why. Naima did too.

"I don't want you to see Rahim anymore," Naima stated. Wadi nearly choked on her chicken. Immediately, Naima was out of her seat. "Careful-"

Wadi chewed and swallowed. "Is this because he's grisha?" she snapped. The teenager stood up from her chair, slamming her hands down on the table. "It is, isn't it?"
Foolish girl, Naima wanted to say. "You have your power. He has his." Wadi looked surprised, and Naima had surprised herself too. She'd never called Wadi's thing a power before, but she supposed it was. "It will not end well," she continued. She saw the way Rahim looked at Wadi. She would not have it. Wadi would suffer with him. He, like her, was 'grisha'. They would never be able to exist in peace. The Ravkans already thought of the Suli cursed, and Muslims at fault for believing in Allah, who'd created darkness, and thus according to the Sainted, the Fold. Combined with those powers, it was a death sentence.

"That boy is putting all those things in your head."
"What things? That I should be allowed to exist?" Naima watched Wadi stare at her in disbelief. "That I should be allowed to practice without fear?"
"You are a Suli Muslim," Naima hissed, gripping the tablecloth. "You must fear."

Wadi glanced away. But Naima wasn't finished. Her...thing, the way it moved, the way it breathed when it appeared in her hand. Fire wasn't meant to look like that. Smokeless, alive. Unnatural. But she couldn't find the words to say it, so instead she said, "If they find you, they will not take you to the Black General. They will kill you, or traffic you. Do you understand me?" Naima asked, raising her voice. "You cannot show it. You cannot create something and make it breathe."

Naima watched her daughter. At that moment, she saw something snap inside Wadi. Her eyes widened as the grisha grabbed her plate and hurled it at the wall. It shattered.

"IT IS NOT ALIVE!" she screamed.
"It might as well be," Naima hissed.

Wadi stared at her. Naima waited for it, as it happened every time an argument occurred: a remark, an insult, a counterpoint. But this time, it felt different, because Wadi didn't speak. She didn't have to. Naima saw the burning hatred in her eyes.

Wadi walked away silently. Naima's hands gripped the tablecloth tighter. Then, she walked over to the sink and began to wash her plate in silence.